


I Promise

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [58]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin), Merlin is a scared bean because he's a sorcerer living under uther freaking pendragon, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Knights (Merlin), They said hey merlin's our smol and if you hurt him arthur we're gonna kill you, arthur went okay first off he's my smol second what the fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24307516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Merlin's been off the past few days. Arthur knows. The knights know. They just have to figure out why. Well, no.Arthur has to figure out why. The knights are making sure he knows that if it's his fault they won't be happy.
Relationships: Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), they all love him so much as they should
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [58]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 50
Kudos: 1763





	I Promise

**Author's Note:**

> all of the knights will die for merlin and that's the tea

Fandom: Merlin (BBC)

Prompt: “I’m scared.”

* * *

“Sire!”

Arthur pauses as he heads away from the training field, frowning when he sees his knights following him.

“What is it?”

“Not here,” Gwaine says roughly, taking his arm and pulling him toward the armory. Arthur protests at the treatment until he sees the look on all of their faces. He tugs his arm away but follows Gwaine to the armory, waiting until Elyan’s shut the door to ask why the hell he was practically dragged off the training field.

“It’s about Merlin.”

At Lancelot’s words, all of Arthur’s ire dissipates instantly, replaced by mounting concern.

“Merlin? What’s wrong, what’s happened?”

He sees Percival handing Elyan something out of the corner of his eye but pays it no mind, instead focusing on Lancelot. The knight sighs, sitting down on one of the barrels.

“Has you noticed he’s been…off, recently?”

Arthur frowns. Yes, Merlin hasn’t been nearly as talkative as he normally is but he said he hasn’t been feeling well. Gaius confirmed the fact when Arthur checked, and he knows Merlin doesn’t make a habit of letting others fuss over him, the little hypocrite. What with the amount of fussing he does over Arthur, the _least_ he can do is let Arthur return the favor.

“I don’t see why that’s any of your concern,” he says in his stern voice—the one Merlin calls the Royal Prat Voice. It’s enough to dissuade most. Not so these men.

“All due respect,” Gwaine says, “it is our concern.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You and I both know you say that like it covers up the fact that you don’t have any respect.”

Gwaine, of course, doesn’t even bother to look the least bit apologetic and shrugs. “Favorite thing about that expression. Doesn’t say anywhere how much respect is actually due. Could be none.”

“You bring him on patrol,” Elyan pipes up, “if he’s unwell, we need to know.”

“Surely,” Percival agrees, “you know Merlin means a great deal to us too.”

Arthur curses under his breath. They’re right.

“Yes, Lancelot,” he says finally, “he’s been off.”

“Has he told you why?”

Arthur narrows his eyes at Lancelot. “You lot knew he’s been off,” he accuses, “didn’t you? You asked me that to see if I was paying attention.”

“Observant as always,” comes Gwaine’s snide reply.

“He told me he was unwell,” Arthur continues, “and I checked with Gaius, he said the same.”

Lancelot nods. “That’s what happened when I asked.”

“Me too.” Gwaine leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “We all know it’s a load of shite.”

“Do we?”

Gwaine glances at Elyan. “When have you ever known a sick Merlin to _not_ complain about every littlething?”

“He’s got a point,” Arthur says, sighing, “the only time Merlin isn’t complaining when he’s sick is when he’s too sick to do _anything._ ”

“And he’s still pampering your royal arse.”

“Gwaine,” Lancelot chides before putting his head in his hand. “He won’t tell me what it really is, which is why I hoped he’d told you.”

“You know Merlin,” Percival says, “he doesn’t talk about himself.”

“I’ve never met a man who could talk so much and say so little.” Elyan starts taking off his armor and the rest follow suit.

“Sire?”

Arthur looks round at Sir Leon, who apparently got a head start and is almost completely out of his armor. “Yes?”

“When your father burned the sorceress,” the knight asks quietly, “for simply helping her family recover from an illness, where was Merlin?”

Arthur stares at Leon, realization dawning.

“By my side,” he murmurs, cursing again, “he was _right next to me.”_

“Merlin isn’t ill,” Leon murmurs, “he’s shaken.”

“Because he watched an innocent person be burned alive.”

Arthur looks up sharply at Gwaine. “She was a sorceress, Gwaine.”

“And I said what I said.”

“Now is not the time,” Leon cuts in sharply when it looks like Gwaine and Arthur are about to have another shouting match. “Merlin is upset.”

“Do you know where he is?”

As Lancelot asks, Gwaine and Arthur shake themselves out of the argument, focusing on the shake of Leon’s head.

“I saw him earlier at the stables.” Leon sets his swords aside to be polished. “I haven’t seen him since.”

“It’s Thursday,” Percival supplies, “isn’t that the day he goes around with Gaius to collect the pots?”

“That’s only in the morning,” Gwaine says, frowning when they all look at him in surprise. “What? Percival can keep track of these things and I can’t?”

“Since when have you kept track of anything that wasn’t where the nearest tavern was?”

They laugh at Elyan’s jibe until they remember they still don’t know where Merlin is.

“Check your chambers,” Lancelot says to Arthur, “he should be there.”

“He should be a lot of things,” Arthur grumbles, “that rarely means he actually _is._ ”

“Hey.” Arthur turns back on his way out of the armory, not expecting to see all the knights standing up and staring at him.

“I don’t know if this slipped your notice,” Gwaine says and oh, he’s…he’s angry now, “but Merlin is just as important to us as he is to you.”

“He is our brother,” Leon adds and it does something to Arthur’s chest to hear his longest-serving, most loyal knight talk about Merlin like that, “just as any other would be after all we have been through together.”

“I hope it goes without saying—“ Lancelot takes a step forward— “that we would like you to _tell us_ when you find Merlin.”

Arthur frowns. taking in the—well, for lack of a better word, _battle stance_ his knights are in right now.

“You’ve all got a coup planned if I ever hurt Merlin,” he laughs nervously, expecting at least Leon to laugh too and reassure him that it’s not that serious. He gets nothing.

Well, no. He gets Leon— _Leon—_ stepping forward to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Okay Arthur’s gonna go find Merlin now.

* * *

He pushes open the door to his chambers quietly, trying not to startle anyone who might be inside them. He sees no Merlin at the desk, no Merlin at the closet, no Merlin at the table. Pushing aside the curtain, he expects to see the entire room empty.

He doesn’t expect to see the figure curled into a ball, clutching something to its chest, shaking.

Something in Arthur’s chest breaks when the figuresobs, curling ever tighter on itself until it looks like it must _hurt._

It feels wrong, that’s what it feels, Arthur decides as he watches, paralyzed as Merlin cries, it feels wrong. To see this, to hear this, to watch Merlin be like this.

“Merlin?”

Merlin startles so bad that Arthur’s afraid he’s going to fall off the bed, despite being securely in the center of it. Arthur panics, reaching to steady his servant before he hurts himself and recoils when Merlin’s next inhale is so high pitched it’s almost a scream.

“Merlin!”

“D-don’t take me,” Merlin gasps, shoving himself away, “I’ll leave, I promise, I promise, just…just don’t take me.”

“Shh,” Arthur soothes, holding his hands out, “no one’s trying to take you, Merlin, you’re alright—“

“Don’t—don’t be angry, please don’t be angry—“ Merlin looks like he’s going to throw himself away, _no, no, come here, Merlin, please—_

“I’m not angry, Merlin,” Arthur keeps saying, edging closer and closer to his poor frightened mess of a servant, “I’m not angry, shh, come here, it’s alright, come here…”

It takes far longer than Arthur would like to get Merlin to stop looking so afraid, longer still before he returns reluctantly to the center of the bed, to Arthur, now curled up too, trying to coax Merlin to not be afraid of him. When he finally lets Arthur rest a hand on his shoulder Arthur could weep with relief.

“There you are…” Arthur looks down at Merlin’s hands, clutching one of the pillows until it looks like the seams are about to burst. _That’s what he must’ve been curled around._

“Now then,” he murmurs, shifting his body around to make sure he looks as non-threatening as possible, “why don’t you tell me what’s got you all shaken, hmm?”

He knows, at least he’s pretty sure he does, but he wants to make sure he’s got it right. He also knows that Merlin bottling things up has a tendency to turn them into poison, killing Merlin slowly from within. So he waits, curling himself around Merlin as much as he can without making it seem like a cage.

“I’m…”

Arthur’s head snaps up from where he’d been watching his hand kindly trace patterns on the cushion next to Merlin’s white-knuckled grip, waiting for Merlin to continue.

“I’m _scared,”_ Merlin whispers finally, his voice cracking on the last word, “I’m scared, Arthur.”

“It’s alright, Merlin,” Arthur soothes, reaching to try and detangle Merlin’s fingers, “it’s alright to be scared, you’re alright.”

Merlin shakes his head, clamming up again. A comforting noise escapes Arthur’s throat as a fresh set of tears begin brimming in Merlin’s eyes.

“Your fingers are going to hurt if you keep holding them like that,” he says instead, gently running his thumb over Merlin’s knuckles, “come on.”

He gets Merlin to release the pillow, replacing it with his own hand and not protesting when Merlin resumes his tight grip. He stays, letting Merlin clutch his hand until he’s sure he’s not going to be able to feel his fingers for a while, until the fingers on Merlin’s free hand twitch and he breaks, gathering his servant into a firm hug.

“Shh,” he soothes when Merlin startles again, “I’m just holding you. You’re safe, Merlin, no one’s coming for you.”

“Please don’t—please don’t be angry,” Merlin hiccups into his neck, prompting Arthur to pull away just enough to guide Merlin’s eyes to his.

“Merlin,” he calls, “Merlin, look at me. Do I look angry?”

It’s hard not to frown when he sees how _terrified_ Merlin looks right now, but he keeps it at bay. He smiles when Merlin shakes his head.

“I’m not,” he reassures, gathering Merlin back into his embrace, “I’m not angry. You’re allowed to be afraid, Merlin, I’m not here to scold you.”

_It doesn’t matter,_ he thinks as Merlin finally lets Arthur cuddle him properly, burying his face into Arthur’s shoulder, _it doesn’t matter how many times I have to tell him it’s alright. I’m going to do it._

Despite all the jokes he makes, Merlin isn’t a coward. Far from it. Perhaps it’s time to stop making those jokes.

Scared Merlin is one of Arthur’s least favorite Merlins, right behind Angry Merlin and Cold Merlin. Not Here Merlin is the worst so he’s doing everything in his power to make sure Not Here Merlin never shows up.

Or doesn’t.

You know what he means.

As they sit there, curled up in the center of Arthur’s bed, Arthur reaches up to carefully undo the ties holding the curtains, giving them a little more privacy. It won’t stop anything that _actually_ wants to get through, but it gives the idea of a shield. Plus, judging by how Merlin winced when he accidentally stared directly into a candle, the darkness is probably useful.

There, huddled in the dark, Merlin finally slumps in Arthur’s arms.

“Shh,” he murmurs again, shifting to let them lean against the headboard, “it’s alright, it’s just me, you’re perfectly safe, I promise.”

“I’m scared,” Merlin repeats, his voice hoarse, “I don’t like being scared.”

“Can I make it easier?” Arthur tangles his free hand in Merlin’s hair, feeling his servant go limp at the scratchings along his scalp.

“You promise you’re not angry?”

“I promise.”

What on earth Merlin’s afraid he’s going to be angry about Arthur has no idea. He’s not about to yell at Merlin for being afraid, he’s not going to be upset Merlin hasn’t told him the truth about what’s wrong.

He’s not about to have _Merlin_ burnt at the stake.

“I’ll never hurt you,” he says into Merlin’s ear, “and I won’t _ever_ be angry with you for being afraid.”

“You won’t?

“I think the knights just threatened to kill me if I ever do,” Arthur says, “even Leon.”

He’s rewarded with a slight huff against his cheek. “I think they like me.”

“More than they like me on some days,” Arthur agrees with a smile. “I’ve half a mind to believe they’re not loyal to Camelot, they’re loyal to you.”

Merlin stiffens, raising his head to look at Arthur. “I’m loyal to you, I won’t—“

“Shh-shh-shh,” Arthur says quickly, “I know, I’m not worried. _Or_ angry.”

Merlin relaxes a little, letting his head flop back to Arthur’s shoulder. Something about the darkness makes him softer, curling into Arthur, free hand clutching the back of his tunic. Arthur files away the fact that his Merlin is a cuddler for future reference.

“I don’t blame them,” he chuckles, pulling Merlin closer, “if someone ever hurt you like that, I don’t know what I’d do either.”

The reply is almost too soft for him to hear. If Merlin’s mouth hadn’t been right next to his ear, he’s sure he’d’ve missed it.

“…promise?”

The meagerness of the question and the red flush he can feel against his neck break Arthur’s heart. He turns his head just enough to press a kiss to the spot just above Merlin’s jaw.

“I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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